THE AMERICAN EIDER 381 



gray curtain. A mile from home tlae first flakes 

 of the storm begin to seethe in the water along- 

 side and in another minute every landmark is 

 hidden — nothing to look upon but nearby waves 

 and level lines of driving snow. If our guard- 

 ians are disturbed at the prospect they give no 

 sign, but pull steadily, keeping their course by 

 the heavy wind which they know will hold from 

 this quarter for some time. But the passen- 

 gers, covering up no little anxiety under an air 

 of indifference, are mightily pleased when 

 finally they hear the thunder of the sea upon the 

 rocks ahead. A short pull along the coast 

 brings into view the dead oak which marks the 

 harbor's entrance, and soon the voyage is 

 ended and we are at home with another shoot- 

 ing experience to remember, and that, too, one 

 which only New England's winter season can 

 give us. 



The Eiders gather into large flocks and fly 

 out into the open sea for the night, coming in 

 about daybreak to feed among the sunken reefs 

 on the mollusks and shellfish which make their 

 chief diet and abound in such places. This 

 food, the staff of life to the seafowl, makes their 

 flesh dark and to most people unpleasant in 



